


Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)

by Tightredpants, yvette_cigarette



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Bartender AU, M/M, alex is a mess as per usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tightredpants/pseuds/Tightredpants, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yvette_cigarette/pseuds/yvette_cigarette
Summary: No matter the glass or it's contents, the outcome seldom strays from the same.
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 21
Kudos: 49





	1. Whiskey Sour

**Author's Note:**

> Probably another sappy attempt at an AU :) Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Thanks are due to the wonderful yvette_cigarette for giving me the courage to actually post! XX

Here he was again, sitting at Miles’ bar, seeing how much he could possibly drink before either being cut off or carried out by his dwindling audience of concerned friends. He was half decent when he was sober; polite, almost shy, even though Miles knew exactly what he wanted before his ass had even hit the stool. Their sales in Irish whiskey had tripled since Alex started coming by. More than anything, Miles felt sorry for him, and extremely guilty, being the main person enabling him to drink himself to oblivion almost every night. 

“Milessss,” it was Tuesday, which meant that only the loyal decided to make their way down to the corner pub, gracing Miles with their presence. “She broke my heart.” Usually Alex had some kind of grievance; a failed relationship, a failed publication, an argument with a friend. It always confused Miles, because during the 45 minutes when he was sober, Alex was the nicest man you’d ever met, timid, some would say awkward, and even belligerently drunk, he always paid his tab, and threw a few too many pound notes in the tip jar before leaving. He was also gorgeous: fluffy brown curls framing his pale face and bright pink lips, a delicate body and big, toffee colored eyes, alluring even when hazy. Miles had heard that Alex would only have one or two drinks when he wasn’t bartending, saving his long nights for when Miles was around. Sometimes he liked to think Alex actually liked him back, and that he wasn’t just the easiest to look at while getting hammered. 

“I thought you really liked her?” Miles knew it was selfish of him to take some joy in Alex being back on the market, but how could he resist cherishing whatever undivided attention Alex gave him? 

“‘Spose I did, but I reckon she didn’t like me much.” The way Alex looked at him broke his heart, and if he wasn’t stuck behind a bar, he’d be holding him, wiping away those thick tears he was trying to pass as drunkenness. 

“I’m sorry, mate.” 

Fixing his attention on his hands wrapped around his glass, Alex shook his head. “It’s ok.” But it wasn’t, Alex was heartbroken and lonely, the sad reality behind the reason he was here in the first place. 

Miles always hated being the one to cut him off, but usually, if he was drunk enough, Alex would forget about that drink he ordered if Miles kept him talking for long enough. That, or Alex’ steadfast best friend, Matt, would physically drag him from the bar. It wasn’t always pretty, and it wasn’t always pleasant, but every time Alex left the bar Miles was left with some kind of longing, some deep yearning inside himself, wishing Alex would’ve been a little more coherent, if Alex would have answered that question about his favorite albums before he got distracted, or if he’d finished that one story about his junior soccer league. Miles wished he knew better, knew better than to put so much thought into some drunk who could barely handle his liquor, some lousy drunk-

“I just want to be loved, ya know? That seems so hard for people to do…” Those damn eyes, perpetually teary, those pining eyes, staring at Miles as if asking  _ you love me though, right?  _

“It’ll be alright, I promise,” the shift in character was rare for Miles, he could usually keep the facade of the trusty bartender no matter what, but he’d never been much of an opponent against furrowed brows and puppy dog eyes. 

“Isn’t it always?” Alex gave Miles the best attempt at eye contact he could, a man drained by failure and heartache, one who should probably call his mother more, who could shift to the best of times to the worst of times just as easy as an analog clock. The bags under his eyes had only gotten worse, Miles noted, as well as his shrinking frame, and he knew the lousy peanuts the bar offered didn’t add any nutritious points to his daily value. 

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Miles didn’t mean to ask, but the sallow eyes compelled him beyond control. He regretted it as soon as he asked, because the answer was obvious, wasn’t it? Alex always indulged him in the latest way he was forsaken, by god or by man, so it truly was right out in front of him. 

“I haven’t quite figured it out, yet. But I’ve done some things I shouldn’t have done.”

“Be easy on yourself, Al.” Was he begging? Miles felt that uncomfortable knot in the back of his throat that always accompanied an awkward plea, so he must be. 

Alex looked at him again, and Miles wished he really wouldn’t, and then the act was dropped. One, heavy, monstrous tear, ripped it’s way down the soft and smooth terrain of Alex’ face, despite the facade of a half grin he held on his face. “You’re right, Miles.” 

It was only then Miles realized he’d taken Alex’ hand over the bar, with him returning a deathgrip despite his intoxicated state. Miles didn’t let go, only squeezing lightly in reassurance as he held the most heartbreaking stare. But soon Alex reached for his wallet, and Miles was forced to let go of his rough fingers, drawing his change from the drawer that Alex refused, insisting he should be paying him much more than just the cost of the drinks. 

As he stood to leave, a wobbly stance his heeled boots didn’t offer any assistance in, Alex nodded once more at Miles. 

“Please be gentle to yourself.”

“I’ll sure try.” Alex made his departure, and even though there were few other guests to attend to, that was certainly the end of Miles’ night. 

—

“Miles, this is a red wine glass,” Miles smirked at the comment as he dried a glass, hoping Alex would pick up on his faux pas. 

“We’re out of white wine glasses, I’m afraid.” It was a beautiful day out, which meant every couple that came in wanted a glass of Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc to accentuate their walk about town. “Plus, I already wasted a regular glass on ya by pouring up your usual whiskey when I saw ya come in.” 

“Predictable, aren’t I?” Miles knew Alex hadn’t just taken a pleasant early afternoon walk, and only ordered some white wine because it was more acceptable to have wine with lunch than a double whiskey neat. He chose not to comment on that bit, though. 

“What’re you up to today?” Steering the conversation away from what could easily turn into yet another self inflicted bollocking on Alex’ part, and also because Miles actually wanted to know. He always wanted to know. 

“I wrote this morning, for a bit. But I don’t have much else planned, hence why I’m here.” Alex seemed somewhat more… tangible, today. Granted he’d only had two glasses of wine, but there was a light in his eyes that was normally absent, and his hair wasn’t  _ as  _ greasy as usual. Part of Miles hoped Alex had had some brilliant coming to God moment, and he’d dropped by to tell Miles he’d begun a new life, and his days of drinking excessively were over. Except, guessing by the slight shake in his hands, Miles doubted that. 

“You make it sound like here’s a bad place to be.” They were carrying on with their usual banter, but Miles knew there was a good chance Alex had something on his mind. 

“You know I’d rather be with you than anywhere else…” Alex stated, making Miles' eyebrows raise. It also did a number on his heart, it’s beating becoming erratic for just a second, as he focused on the half-grin Alex was sporting. When he smiled like that his bone structure became the slightest bit more prominent, and he wanted so desperately to swipe his thumb against the delicious skin of his jaw. Just to feel the jut of bone, before tilting his head and leaving a wet mark on the delicate skin of his neck- “Here at the bar! Of course…” Alex’ must’ve caught him staring, and honestly it was Miles’ fault for getting caught in such a delectable daydream at that exact moment, which caused his cheeks to redden just as darkly as Alex’. 

“Right, of course.” Miles remarked, just now remembering he actually had other guests to attend to. 

After he’d finished topping off glasses and cashing out satisfied customers, Miles returned to Alex once the lunch rush came to a lull. “What’re you up to in about an hour or two?” Miles couldn’t, not with a clean conscience, leave Alex alone to drink alone once again. He had no idea what they’d possibly do, since he’d been quite self sufficient for as long as he could remember. But he’d at least try, at least for Alex. 

“This?” Alex replied, gesturing at the glass in front of him. 

“My relief comes in then, would you care to accompany me?” Alex immediately flushed, and Miles did acknowledge how backward this was; usually, it was customers propositioning him, not the other way around. There was an unspoken rule about not mixing your personal life with business, and while he supposed he was definitely crossing that line, he also knew this would be for the better. 

“Well… I guess? It’s not like… um, yeah, I’m free and all.” Alex had a tendency to mince his words whenever he was nervous, and Miles knew that, weirdly enough, and almost went back on his offer, until Alex smiled at him, one of his few genuine smiles. 

“Ok.” Miles returned the smile, more eager to finish his shift than he had been in quite some time. 

—

After Miles had gotten off of work, he and Alex took a walk, since the hour was still early and the sun hadn’t quite yet begun to set. Entirely different from Miles’ usual activities after work, which were usually roasting at home until meal time came around. It was thoroughly awkward in the beginning, with Miles finding that even though he had seen Alex almost every day for the past few months, he didn’t actually know much of anything about him. Besides the fact he drank too much, and tended to have bad luck, those weren’t exactly the things that would warrant a walk through the park. 

However much they stumbled at first, it was smoothed over by the fine groove they found themselves in, with Miles asking Alex question after question. For the first time, Alex didn’t get distracted, didn’t fail to finish a story or answer a question, and while they walked and talked Miles finally got that glimpse of the real Alex, not the one who needed a drink or had a bad day, not the Alex who got so drunk he couldn’t stand on two legs. 

Alex actually opened himself up, made a few jokes, and by the end Miles had talked plenty about himself as well. The usual facade of bartender and customer had faded away quite nicely, into something new, something pleasant. By the time the sun had set and they’d worn themselves out by walking along the lake and stopping to read historical markers (on Alex’ request), Miles took a good look at him, who was being illuminated nicely by the recently lit street lamps. 

“This was nice,” Alex said easily, a tint of rose staining his cheeks, but the kind from too much wind instead of embarrassment. 

Miles nodded in response, smiling playfully at Alex who reciprocated the gesture in full. “Thank you, also.” The tone of his voice shifted slightly, an edge of seriousness added to convey his sincerity. 

“It’s not a problem, I feel like we’re best mates anyway,” Miles replied, trying his best not to let Alex’ sweet, endearing face influence him too deeply. 

“Not too many people I know would spend their time off with me, but I’m very glad you did.” Alex looked up at him slightly, a few inches of height difference making him crane his head just the smallest amount to look at Miles properly. Even in the dark Alex was gorgeous, the orange hue of old electric lamps casting him in a celestial light, like he was a beautiful chiaroscuroed martyr. The desire and longing in Miles had built for such a long time, and every word Alex spoke drove him deeper and deeper into that choppy sea that was Alex, his ship long forgotten. As he stared into those dark, luscious eyes, Miles almost felt like he was in a trance, hopelessly pulled along to whatever tides those eyes wanted. He’d do anything for that face, those eyes, his lips. 

And that was when Miles kissed him. Despite not having had a drink in hours, Alex still tasted like a liquor cabinet stored in a smokey den. Miles never liked Chardonnay, but as he tasted it on Alex’ tongue, he decided he’d give it another chance. Alex so gracefully requited every move, going along fluidly with Miles, and when they finally broke the kiss Alex was even more flushed, his eyes ablaze. “Come to mine?” Miles asked, and Alex nodded happily. They giggled and laughed the entire way home, stopping often to get another taste of one another, one more kiss, just one more. Miles had never experienced a longer walk home; he couldn’t even begin to ask his patience to work, for his mind to tell him that it was the same amount of time as any day. 

When Miles laid Alex down on his bed, he was speechless. Every time he kissed Miles more and more words were pulled from his head, until he’d felt he had completely lost his vocabulary. Alex’ lips formed a pout as he groped and pulled Miles close, and he was so gorgeous as he keened and mewed and pulled at the sheets, wrapping his legs around Miles’ waist. Alex’ hair smelled like cigarettes and warm wood, and each time Miles tugged slightly on the ends the most angelic sound would escape his lips. Miles had read somewhere that man can only truly see god in the split second after an orgasm, and on that night it was proven. When the boy beneath him also reached his climax, Miles couldn’t help himself as he drew a finger through the white emulsion splattered across his stomach, bringing it to his lips for one last final taste. 

Miles tenderly cleaned Alex like he was polishing a fine glass, and hardly had to insist that Alex stay the night before he smilingly agreed. When he fell asleep, Miles watched him for just a moment, peaceful in his dreams. In books they say one’s chest rises and falls gently, but in Alex’ case his breaths were short and deep, surely a sign of a body on autopilot. 

—

Miles was never the one to regret one night stands, but as the days went by and Alex had failed to show his affectation, Miles became more and more worried. Obviously, knowing Alex’ drinking habits, he knew he was still drinking, but elsewhere. Had this been his game all along? To lure Miles to his ultimate end; bedding him and disappearing? Alex hadn’t been there when he’d woken up; a sign of regret and hopeful lapse in memory. Or was he embarrassed? In Miles’ mind, they had nothing to be embarrassed about, or regretful, and he was certainly hoping they would have more nights like that, in the future. 

The one thing Miles was happy about was that he was able to program his number into Alex’ phone before they’d gone to bed, so whenever Alex needed him, he was one phone call away. But would that call ever come? 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a waving hand at the end of the bar, begging his attention elsewhere. 


	2. Sazerac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swept away by a visitor in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy memorial day! Sorry for the wait on this one, my job has got us going back to work and I've been so busy with all that, haven't had much time to write. Hope this makes up for it?

It was almost a week later before Miles saw Alex again. He’d almost given up, and accepted that what they had done was unfortunately a huge mistake, and in that, he’s scared Alex away. He was a skittish type, in any case. When he finally showed his face, Miles almost had to take a second look, to make sure he wasn’t just fooling himself, or seeing things.   
He was there with his usual crowd of friends, just like he was the first time they met, sitting at one of the tables across from the bar on the back wall. Miles wondered why Alex hadn’t come up to the bar, to ask him how he was, why he’d decided to cut communication for an entire week after they’d finally gotten somewhere (Miles thought), to at least say “hey, I don’t want to fuck you anymore”. But he chalked it up to the fact it was Friday night, and the bar was quite packed, and spirits were far too high for such a rejection. And now that he couldn’t stop watching— once he saw Alex all his attention was on him— it seemed that Alex was doing well, smiling and laughing along to whatever was being shared at the table.  
However, through his glances before and after serving guests, and Alex’ friends, Miles noticed something. It wasn’t that someone had knicked the tip jar, or they were out of a popular lager, or a guest had been severely ignored because of the crowds. As he was making his way upstairs from the liquor room, Miles saw something that made him want to shut down the bar and crawl into bed forever. Sitting at the table, all of Alex’ usual group was there, and of course Alex, looking like a beacon of light and softness. But beside him, or, a better phrase would be all over him, was some blonde fellow, with a casually placed arm around Alex’ waist. It wasn’t as if the lad was unattractive, he was far from it; he was the very definition of chiseled. His striking blonde hair was quoiffed in a way that almost made it black; and piercing blue eyes carved their way for a sharp cheekbone and a daring jaw. His looks were so audacious that Miles himself had to check how he looked in the mirror behind the bar, and unfortunately he found he was short in bone structure and about thirty pounds of muscle. He quickly decided to keep his sights on liquor.   
The fact of it all made Miles feel horrible, as he never wanted to be in some convoluted love triangle, or even worse, an active participant in cheating. Seeing Alex loved up with a random guy— who was tall as shit and looked like he had a mean streak the size of the Grand Canyon— wasn’t exactly the type of rejection he expected from Alex, but the words were loud and clear.   
Despite the fact that this made Miles depressed, and also quite self conscious, since the guy looked like he could break both he and Alex with so much as a snap of a finger, Miles kept on. Pauline had taught him better; and after all, Alex was just one of his customers, someone who he’d just barely gotten a glimpse of into their life. Unfortunately, it still hurt like absolute hell. So bad, that Miles fucked up more than a few drinks, throwing him off his game. Usually, Friday nights were his time to shine, the chaos and energy fueling him and the fast pace allowing him to release some heavily pent up energy from throughout his week. But tonight, it was a mess; glasses were broken, drinks were spilled, and he definitely slipped in the regular behind-the-bar puddles he usually detoured.  
Even more unfortunate for him, Alex and his friends were pulling a late night, and it didn’t seem like there was an end in sight almost three hours later. It especially didn’t help when the crowd finally began to dissipate, and Miles was left feeling unsatisfied and, quite frankly, embarrassed. He wasn’t their best bartender for nothing.   
Last call was announced, one simple sign of relief for Miles, but Alex chose then to have the gall to walk himself up to the bar. Sensing his lack of tact and almost all of his critical thinking skills, Miles excused himself to Jay, his bartending partner for the night, and took a smoke break. He was hardly in the right headspace to deal with him. 

—

It was a few days later, in the dead of night, that Miles awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. When he checked the screen with bleary eyes, he almost ignored the call as the number wasn’t saved. But something in his gut told him he might need to answer.   
Hitting the green button, he lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello?” His voice was rough with sleep and agitation; everyone who had his number knew his hours and his proficiency in sleep.   
“Miles?” The identity of the caller was immediate, but his voice showed a sign of uncertainty as if he might have called the wrong number.   
“Alex?” Miles questioned in response, unnerved at the prospect this could be an elaborate dream.   
A quiet sob broke through, one that was definitely held back by a hand covering the mouth, “I was afraid you wouldn’t answer.”   
“I’m always here,” Miles replies before he could scold himself, having decided to definitely give Alex the cold shoulder the next time he saw him.   
“You told me to call if I ever needed you and… I really didn’t know who else would answer, and I-“ Each fragment of a sentence was punctuated by a deep hitch of breath, the caller closer and closer to being in hysterics with each word.   
“You were right to call,” Miles cut in, concern wrapping itself around his body like a tight, damp blanket. “What’s happened?”   
“Could you come over?” Clutching the phone in his hand, Miles mentally strategized his current predicament. He didn’t know where Alex lived, or if he even wanted to go, and if there would be an insanely buff guy waiting to kick his head in when he arrived.  
“Are you by yourself?” Miles didn’t know how else to phrase it, but he also deemed that bit of information to be extremely important.  
A sob on the other end of the line answered his question, and a few questions later had him shoving on a tattered pair of tracky bottoms and shoes, before braced the outside world towards Alex’ house. How different this was to the scenario of the dreams he’d just been awoken from, where he was placed in the memories of days long passed. Dreams via memories were Miles’ favorite; the comfort and safety he felt being surrounded by family and love- much different than his gallivanting around the streets in the midst of early morning. Just early enough for all the tough groups to head to bed, but late enough for the city to still be shadowed in a menacing light. He approached Alex’ address with hesitation; half expecting there to be cops and ambulances out front, from the sounds of his phone call. As he turned onto the quiet street, he again began berating himself, almost sickened by the quick obedience of Alex’ words. To make himself feel more grounded, he told himself he wouldn’t leave anyone in such a state, whether they be a mate or someone who had just slightly broken his heart into a million pieces.   
Knocking on the shabby door, Miles wanted to dart, already coming up with shoddy excuses as to why he couldn’t make it, and how terribly sorry he was. But after the first knock the door opened, seemingly surprising the both of them. Miles stood awkwardly, while Alex did the same, holding onto himself as the draft produced gooseflesh on his too skinny arms. The house behind Alex was illuminated in the warm light of a lamp, not so bright to where it made Miles’ dark adjusted eyes squint in the newfound light, but light enough to make out the features of Alex’ home.   
Alex silently motioned Miles in, and he reluctantly stepped inside, but glad to finally step in from the night. “So, what’s wrong?” Miles gently approached, scanning the living room area that was cluttered with books, pages, ashtrays, a windowsill littered with random empty bottles.   
“The reviews came in, I just submitted a story to be published in a book about 18th century English literature…” He was cut off by a sniffle and few tears, not quite bringing himself to look Miles in the eyes, rather resorting to staring at his scuffed shoes.   
Miles was listening intently, but the sentence delivered to him shocked him; who knew that the drunkard from the bar was actually a scholar. “I worked so hard, weeks on end, and when I finally finished I was so relieved, even fucking went out to celebrate…”   
Miles supposed that was why he’d seen him at the bar that night, but why wasn’t his seemingly doting boyfriend here? There wasn’t a sign of another individual living here, everything was almost suffocatingly Alex. Down to the frayed oriental rug under the coffee table.   
“And then tonight, I got an email from the publishing agency.” At this time of night? Alex must’ve seen his questioning demeanor, “they’re based in New York. Told me they’d have to scrap it all, that it was derivative, and the worst part? They called it ‘uninspiring’. All that work..” Alex had kept himself together somewhat through his explanation, but now he was breaking down again, settling himself in an armchair with a precariously sat ashtray on the arm. Head in his hands, his body was shaking, falling apart piece by piece. Miles immediately went to him, kneeling in front of him to pull Alex’ trembling frame to his chest. Alex ended up in Miles’ lap, on the floor, Miles stroking his hair while Alex held onto his shirt for dear life.   
“Stay?” Alex whispered after some time, almost startling Miles as the room had grown so quiet after Alex had finally stopped crying.   
Miles contemplated for a moment, wondering whether dealing with Alex’ unnamed strong arm of a boyfriend was worth dealing with, but he also knew deep down he didn’t care about anyone else, only this beautifully fragile being in his arms.   
“Yeah, I’ll stay. I promise.” Miles himself didn’t quite understand just how deeply he meant those words.


	3. Dark and Stormy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles tries to figure out how Alex ticks, and ends up more lost than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.... 
> 
> New chapter, more grief, more booze. Thanks to the absolute darling Yvette for helping me write this one! I honestly don't know how this chapter would've come about without her. 
> 
> Enjoy! X

Sprawled out like an overgrown weed on Alex’ settee, the sun beamed over Miles’ face. His eyelids wrinkled as the early afternoon light smothered his sleeping face, a soft grunt leaving his lips.

He would have been perfectly content to have rolled back over, pulled up the crocheted blanket Alex had tossed him last night and drifted back to sleep. However, before the weight of sleep could grasp him once more, the sound of Alex’ retching reached Miles from down the hall. 

Opening his eyes, Miles squints into the light. Pulling himself up into a seated position, he reaches for his phone on the coffee table, noting the late hour into the day. 

Becoming aware of his unfamiliar surroundings, Miles’ eyes flick over the notes of Alex in the living room; the framed pictures of friends and family, the pantry of novels lined shoulder to shoulder in a tall bookshelf - classics Miles only dreamed of having the free time to read - and the fresh, oaky aroma to the space. There was an odd balance between familiarity and outlandish quality to what the space told Miles about Alex. 

Dismissing his usual road to theorising, Miles stood on stiff legs, feeling his way around the worn, amber sofa to the entry of the hall and source of Alex’ uneasy chundering. 

Miles barely has the mind to notice the towering Morissey staring down at him from a poster fastened to the long wall he passes, then the psychedelic Jim Morrison festival rock-folk poster - surely authentic, knowing Alex - and the Leonard Cohen dotted over the bathroom door. 

Miles pushes it open, squinting into the pearly bathroom as the sounds of Alex’ toilet-muted yawns amplify. He runs his index finger across one sleep-stiff eyelid and is met with the sight of Alex - kneeling before the royal throne as he pours the previous night's misery into the bowl. 

“Christ, Al.” He croaked sympathetically, crossing the room to hold back the older lad’s stray bulk of hair, lest it got in the way. 

“Nngh.” Alex’ arm extended behind him, fingers meeting Miles’ jacket hem. Whether he was attempting to shoulder Miles away or check that he was real, Miles hadn’t the slightest. 

As Alex upheaved what Miles prayed was the last of his throw ups, holding the boy’s soft curls out of the path of his retching, his eyes wandered over the pearlescent tiles tracked across the floor and partially up the dusty grey walls. He noted the single toothbrush soldered by the sink, the showerhead slouched over the small tub and the laundry basket drooling with dirty goods by the door.

“Nn, m’fine, s’fine.” Alex muttered into the bowl without speaking directly at the lad, officially declining Miles' assistance with a soft shove.

Carefully tucking Alex’ hair behind his pink ears, Miles leaned around to check Alex hadn’t fallen in. Alex nodded without opening his eyes, and Miles snorted, nodding back. He backed off as Alex rested his fair face on his own arm - exhausted - and heaved a sigh. 

Miles patted the lad’s back before moving to sit crossed legged on a bath mat by the tub. 

“Alex.” Miles rumbled, clearing his throat when he felt gravel. He swallowed around what felt like his own alcoholic intake last night, groaning internally to himself. 

_ “Alex.” _ He repeated when no response came. 

When Alex made an affirmative whine from his slouching kneel, Miles dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Do I need to clear out before the boyfriend gets ‘ome?” 

The silence that followed dropped a cold stone to the bottom of his stomach, and he sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Right.” He uncrossed his legs and made for a wobbly walk down the hall and out the door, when Alex sighed his name. 

“Look, Miles. That bloke, from the other night - he's not me boyfriend." 

Miles had told himself that Alex’ indifference had eroded any longing he’d possessed for the lad. It’d been a cheap coping mechanism he’d strung together in the midst of Alex’ renunciation - a ploy to distract himself from just how bad Alex’ rejection had stung him. 

The thought of Alex, his home, being in it with him - brought some foreign warmth into his chest. It fluttered with something not so distant from hope. 

“Oh.” It echoed slightly in the small bathroom. He placed his hands in his lap and picked at the freys of his nail beds. And then, because he was a helpless bastard, “so, why…” his voice was carried off with his conviction when Alex’ cloudy face lifted to stare expectedly at him. 

Miles opened his mouth, perhaps to continue or end that thought, when Alex sighed forcefully - like a teeager, rolling his eyes as he leaned up to flush the toilet. 

“He liked bein’ around me,” Alex mumbled, “an’ I liked…” he grunted as he stood, “not being by meself- I dunno. Alcoholics are thankless riddles, Miles.” He ran his hand up through his dark bangs, heaving another breath as he watched the toilet water swirl. 

Miles studied the other lad’s posture, the lean in the hips and the dainty hands that rested there. His eyes found Alex’ eyes back on him, and he blinked. 

"I...would offer to cook breakfast." Alex began, swallowing a nauseated expression. "But the thought of eggs right now, 'as me stomach turnin'." 

Miles smiled, nodding in sympathy for the slighter lad’s weaving guts. 

“C’mon, few slices a’ toast’ll set ye straight.” Miles concluded, leaning by the doorway. He extended his arm in an ushering manner, shaking his head affectionately when Alex groaned by him, fingers rotating at the temples. 

-

Sandwiched between an array of cushions, Alex spent the morning draped over his sofa, in front of Monty Python reruns as he nursed what he would tell Miles was one of the worst hangovers in his entire, alcohol-accented life. 

Across the close-cornered house was Miles, buttering toasted sourdough as sounds of the comedies and Alex’ laughs - followed by stuffy groaning - reached him from the kitchen. Once toast was settled and ready he brought two plates to the couch, landing on the fact that his stomach probably wasn’t in any shape to handle anything heavier than toast either.

Miles had to keep himself from noticing the domesticity of it all; him and Alex lounging about on Miles’s day off, nursing him back to health with a particularly bad hangover, watching Monty Python and being as lazy as possible. Alex didn’t seem as afflicted as he dozed on and off while they roasted on the couch, like he finally found just a bit of peace. Miles couldn’t help but watch; he’d already seen almost every Monty Python episode - almost had them committed to memory - so he allowed himself to stare, maybe part of him still wasn’t sure that all of this wouldn’t just disappear if he detoured his attention. 

Miles was also so utterly confused; still not knowing where he stood in Alex’ mind, if he stood there at all. Their morning together did nothing to settle his thoughts, Alex was aloof and almost indignant, his indifference almost shocking, especially after the night they had. It made him think of their times at the bar, how every day, Alex would act as if nothing was the matter, as if everything was fine, until he got drunk and his world was coming down around him. From Alex’ actions, and his words, Miles knew that days like this weren’t uncommon, maybe even the norm. His mind also strayed to the ominous shadow of the maybe-boyfriend, though Alex insists it isn’t like that, that he just wanted someone to celebrate with, and probably an easy byway for a guaranteed fuck. His thoughts were interrupted by Alex’ soft snoring, body leaning against the arm of the couch as he crouched cocooned in the same blanket Miles had slept with the night before. It made him realize he hardly knew how Alex slept, as he’d left so suddenly after they coupled; perhaps as soon as Miles fell asleep himself. Maybe that’s how Alex operated, just having another person to keep him company, fuck him good, and to lean on when he inevitably broke down, only to leave then in the dust, leaving them to wonder what went wrong. Miles studied the space around him, the mismatch of mid-century modern furniture carefully picked secondhand, books on books: setting on window sills next to ashtrays, stacked on unused chairs and two full bookshelves sitting on opposite sides of his television, all set back in built in cabinets. He figured Alex’ writing paid him enough to afford a prewar apartment in a building that wasn’t falling into itself. Miles hadn’t even seen Alex’ bedroom yet, but he imagined it to be just as lived in, probably messier, clothes strewn about and a record player next to the window, perhaps to pair with the one that sat on a shelf underneath where his tv stood in the living room. Something told him that Alex preferred the comfort of his bedroom, a place to seal himself off from the world, which is probably why Miles had yet to see it, a place so fully Alex. Miles let his thought train trail off as he continued his watch of Alex, content with small graces. 

Evening soon found itself settling over Alex’ apartment, and with it a relaxed mood. They had switched from Monty Python to the Great British Bake Off, Miles hardly concealing his joy that Alex also enjoyed the program. Their conversation had remained minimal, questions about what either wanted to watch, or Miles asking Alex if he needed anything, or one of them excusing themselves to the bathroom. Suddenly, after about an hour of watching the show, Alex turned to Miles. A much fresher look was in his eyes, after hours of napping and drinking water at Miles’ request, and he asked: “Do you want to read my rejected article?”

Miles didn’t miss the slightly sour face Alex made when he pronounced “rejected”, like he’d had a terrible taste in his mouth. “Of course, I’d love to,” it wasn’t a lie either; after studying Alex’ bookshelves, with all the copies of well-worn classics, the coffee table also littered with books, and seeing the tote on his coat rack embellished with the emblem of the local library, he knew that whatever Alex had to say, whatever opinion or analysis he had written, it was with absolute authority. 

“Apparently, it’s not very good, but I thought it wasn’t half bad,” he said as he stood, procuring a printed copy from his small dining room table. He sat back down with a huff, handing Miles the paper without quite looking at him, fixing his eyes back to the tv screen. Miles immediately dug in, curiosity getting the better of him as he was able to get an insight into something he couldn’t wrap his head around: Alex’ mind. By page two he’s hooked; though he’d only heard of maybe one or two of the authors, Mary Wollstonecraft and Thomas Paine, and even then only in passing. The sheer confidence and merit in which he wrote was compelling. It was obvious that Alex had studied profusely over the topic, pouring over each detail with such amazing care. By the time he was halfways through, already contemplating going out and buying a book of poems by William Wordsworth, Miles had to scoff. “They really said this was  _ derivative _ ? And even worse, uninspiring? I haven’t picked up a book in ages and I want to read half of these works you mentioned…”

He gazed up at Alex, who had moved from his seat on the couch to the kitchen. “Yeah, I have to say, I was shocked. I thought it was damn good. But I think they like to give article publications to Americans first, before someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re talking about.” There was a bitterness in his tone that Miles couldn’t disagree with, Alex truly had every right to be upset. 

“That’s so unfair…” Miles started, before being cut off by Alex.

“Isn’t the first time, won’t be the last. May be my last time trying to get in one of those posh American journals, however.” 

“Fuck those guys, you should send it to a company here, there’s no way you wouldn’t get published!” At that, Alex chuckled, departing from the kitchen to lean on the back of the couch, close to Miles.

“Thank you, Miles.” He said softly, placing a hand on the back of Miles’ neck, smoothing down his flyaways. The way Alex said his name made his skin prickle, coming out so clearly when his name was often muddled under the speaker’s tongue. Alex drew it out, every letter pronounced, like his name was a word that meant something, like it was worth taking the extra second to properly enunciate. 

“It’s the truth, you’re incredible.” Miles replied with a startling amount of honesty, an amount of which even surprised himself. 

“I’ve enjoyed you being here today. It’s been a nice change of pace. And I appreciate you reading my piece.” The look in Alex’ eyes was something akin to adoration, and Miles never wanted to leave that space, he wanted to stay in that tranquil aura of Alex’ eyes forever. 

“I wouldn’t have wanted to spend my day anywhere else.” Another startlingly honest confession, but he found that with Alex, every sentence uttered was some kind of confession. He thought that then, Alex would pull his head closer, his hand still on the back of Miles’ neck, and bring their lips together in a kiss, something they hadn’t shared since their night together. As he shifted closer, almost closing his eyes, Alex met him with a smile. Except, the hand left his neck, and Alex was walking back to the kitchen. The skin on his neck where Alex’ hand once was burned, as well as his cheeks. Miles had so much to say, so many conflicting emotions bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He began to wonder if he’d just dreamt their night together, if he’d ever get closure, or if he’d ever get something more. 

Miles continued his reading silently, finishing the article with profound contempt for the New Yorker who denied Alex his proper praise. He was idly flipping through some of his favorite passages throughout the piece when he heard a rustling come from the kitchen, thinking Alex had decided to start on dinner. It was well past the appropriate dinner time, them having slept and wasted away most of their afternoon, evening, and the beginning of the night. When he glanced up, expecting to see Alex the picture of a savior for their empty stomachs, he was shocked - absolutely dumbfounded - to see him pouring a drink. 

Irish whiskey. Three fingers.  _ Christ, _ Miles thought. And, the cherry on top, nothing else to be seen to aid him in swallowing that golden liquid. “I- You’re having one?” Miles asked, confused; had they not just spent a day roasting on the couch, had Alex not thrown his guts up less than twelve hours earlier?

“Yeah, me hands are shaking like mad, you want one?” Alex replied, that infuriating nonchalance he kept oozing with every word. 

“No, I… Jesus, Al, don’t you think after a night like last night you’d want a break?” He tried to phrase himself in a way that wasn’t accusatory, or deliberately harsh, but he was finding it harder and harder to restrain himself. 

“I mean, I’m hardly drinking, aren’t I?” Something in his tone suggested he’d made this speech more than once, to many a worried partner. “Just something to calm my nerves, it’s not like you don’t see me every fucking day…” He stopped himself, raking a hand through his hair grabbing a fistful when he reached his nape, closing his eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal, Miles. No need to make a fuss.” 

“You’re gonna drink yourself to death, Al.” He was a bit quieter now, something inside his clueing him in to what was happening. Alex wasn’t going to stop drinking after one simple idyllic, domestic, and peaceful day - whether Miles wanted to admit it or not. 

“Drink myself to death? I’m quite aware of what I’m doing, thank you.” The bite at the end of his sentence surprised Miles, urging him to forfeit his seat on the couch and meet Alex in the kitchen. As he approached him, Miles could see the fire behind his eyes, the pink emerging on the tips of the ears. He was pissed.

“Alex, hey, I wasn’t trying to pick a fight…” Miles couldn’t help the look in his eyes, his profound sadness at the situation, and also the empathy on what must be an incredibly painful situation for Alex. Unfortunately, Alex read him like a book, and wasn’t pleased with what he saw.

“I don’t need your pity, or your excuse.” With that he stalked past Miles, glass and bottle in hand. He disappeared down the hall, into his bedroom, and Miles knew by the sound of the door slamming that he definitely wasn’t invited to follow. 


	4. Hot Toddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will the boys be able to mend the cracks in their relationship? Perhaps some liquid courage will push them in the right direction.

Alex’ door slammed with a ringing finality. He didn’t hear anything on the other side, especially not an invitation to join. Alex had holed himself up once again, pushing back as hard as he could. Miles could faintly see the timeline of this event playing out with many different characters; past girlfriends, past boyfriends, worried friends, perhaps even just concerned acquaintances. Miles decided then to play his role; he gathered up his jacket, put on his shoes which were discarded by the settee, and made his leave. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to face the catastrophe which would no doubt ensue — a weepy, drunken Alex begging Miles to stay and showcasing all his woes and afflictions on a wobbly pedestal. Part of Miles kicked himself for his choice to leave, because in a sense he was proving Alex right; proving that everyone eventually leaves, that everyone will eventually get fed up with his ways and leave him to the bottle between his fingers. But Miles also had some shred of self respect, and the lousey base of their relationship garnered no obligation to see it through to tomorrow, or even later into the evening. If Miles was going to be used, he’d at least like a dinner first. 

He made his trek home through the dying streets, a few partygoers strolling along arm in arm as he made his way. The tiny glimpse of celebration made him realize what misery he’d put himself through trying to be the anchor of a sinking ship, and he wasn’t sure if the number of holes in the hull constituted a rescue effort. 

When he returned home, Miles collapsed onto his bed, his bedsheets being as disheveled as he had left them in such a hurry the night before. They were cold to the touch, a stark difference to the warmth of Alex’ apartment. He tried not to give it much thought. 

—

The days that followed were of the same variety —don’t give it too much thought. He didn’t see Alex, there were no forms of communication by way of text or call, so he decided to finally give himself a fucking break; he felt too much like a main character in some Shakespearean tragedy for his liking. He woefully carried about his duties, going to work, calling his mum, dragging himself along to gatherings with his friends, getting partially too fucked up on weekends. He was grateful for the Christian owners of the pub, who didn’t believe in being open on Sundays. Too sinful, as if harboring a habit for every Tom, Dick, and Harry six days a week was particularly fine and none at all shameful. They had a business to run, after all. 

It was then, on the second week of this twisted sort of advent, that Miles was able to see some sort of absolution. Alex stalked through the doors, and Miles was glad that he was somewhat hidden; just past the barrier that hid the stairs down to the liquor room, but still in a position to see the length of the bar. Truthfully, he was doing an inventory, but part of himself was glad that the hitch of his breath and the flush of his cheeks wasn’t immediately visible to the patron cautiously taking a barstool. Miles stayed back, letting his bartending partner take Alex’ order —one he of course knew by heart— acting as if he really, truly, needed to go down and get another bottle of Ketel One to stock for the night’s rush. 

Alex got his drink, Miles held his clipboard with a death grip as he managed stock. Miles knew he’d been seen, after all he did have to go behind the bar to bring in those bottles he so meticulously checked and rechecked, slowly bringing in backups and making sure everything was perfect. He didn’t think he’d ever cared so much about stock. 

Eugene declared he’d be on break; it was a slow night and honestly, they didn’t even need two bartenders to begin with, but it didn’t harm anyone to be prepared. Miles heard someone clear their throat behind him, for some reason he’d decided to keep his eyes on the bottles and tabs instead of trying to engage with patrons; he couldn’t imagine what the reason was for that. 

As he turned around, he was almost met with two brown eyes, shaggy hair, sharp cheekbones, delicate hands gripping a whiskey glass. A whiskey glass he knew to be containing Irish whiskey. And it was only almost, because he kept his gaze fixed at the sink behind the bar. 

“Miles,” the apparition at the bar spoke, him being one of the sparse few hanging around, the others just needing a beer topped off every now and again. 

“Can I get you anything?” Miles replied, his voice hollow and somewhat broken, like it had been out of use for far too long. Maybe it had. 

“I’m alright.” Miles had preoccupied himself with drying a glass, grateful that Eugene had left some glasses on the washing rack under the bar. 

“Good,” Miles went to move himself from the spotlight, down to the end of the bar where he noticed a certain regular had gone below half a beer, which meant he would be expecting another frosty pint in front of him soon. 

“Can we talk?” This time Miles looked up, regretfully, because he truly wasn’t prepared for a question like that. And  _ fuck _ , there he was. Surprisingly, Alex looked fresh, despite the glaze over his eyes that told Miles he was half way drunk. And of course, he looked beautiful, even with his demure expression, his unwillingness to fully meet Miles’ eyes showcasing his long eyelashes.

“I don’t know what there is to talk about. Excuse me,” Miles replied in a rush, turning quickly and making his way down the bar. He was so weak, and the pull of Alex radiated through him in a way he couldn’t escape. He was totally fucked. In the times that had passed since he last saw Alex, he had almost managed to convince himself that he was better off without him, without that constant on edge feeling like he was about to dive head first into the abyss. But as soon as he laid eyes on him, he felt the familiar feeling right in the center of his gut, like he was standing too close to the edge. His fingers and toes prickled, as if he wasn’t standing on solid ground. Should he jump? 

The worst part was him knowing that Alex was drawn to him as well, in his own inexplicable way. The glimpse Miles had of the absolutely miserable expression Alex held when he brushed him off moments before told him all he needed to know, but it also told him nothing at all. 

The rest of the evening went in the same fashion, Miles trying to ignore the man at the bar while Alex bore holes into him. Thankfully, Eugene picked up on the tension between the two and refilled Alex’ glass whenever he needed to, so Miles wouldn’t be so pained. Another fact he was thankful for was that he wasn’t due to close, which ruled out him being potentially stuck alone with Alex in an empty bar. When it was time to take his leave, he did his side work with a quickness he didn’t know he possessed, gathered his things, and practically ran out the door. Unfortunately for him, Alex was already outside, half way through a cigarette. 

“Eugene told me you were on your way out, thought I might catch you.” Miles just stared at him, illuminated by the streetlights. 

“Why’d you come here?” He finally asked, not knowing how much time had passed while they stared each other down. For a moment he wondered if he should turn and leave, but he had the feeling that Alex would only follow, so he stayed. At least, maybe, he’d be offered some sort of closure, so he could get out of this hellish whirlpool. 

“I don’t like how we left things. I know I was being a dickhead, and I wanted to apologize.” Alex answered, composed and straightforward, which was a manner so unlike him; it suggested he’d practiced the statement before speaking. 

Miles scoffed. “That’s a bit of an understatement.” 

“I’m sorry.” His usual hesitance was back, perhaps he wasn’t expecting to get as far as this. 

“Why do you keep dragging me along? What’s the point of all this?” Miles shot back, his patience thinning.

Alex seemed offended at Miles’ question, furrowing his brows and standing a bit straighter. “I’m not dragging you along, I don’t do that.” 

“So coming to  _ my _ bed, completely ghosting me, parading some man around  _ my _ bar, and then kicking me out of your apartment isn’t dragging me along? All you do is pull me in and then push me away! How the  _ fuck _ am I supposed to cope?” His voice had raised gradually throughout his statement, and he finished with a yell. “I can’t fucking do this!” 

Alex almost flinched, and drug a hand through his hair, avoiding Miles’ glare. “Can we just talk about this,  _ please? _ ” His tone was begging, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. After a few moments of tense silence, he muttered, “ _ fuck _ ,” before digging out his pack of cigarettes and hastily lighting it. 

After a particularly angry pull, Alex spoke again, while Miles stood tensely with his hands in his pockets, unmoving. “Look, I was fucking scared, alright? I sat there almost every fucking day, and you were the only person who gave a single fuck about me. For months, Miles, I sat there trying to convince myself that you weren’t the only person I wanted to be around. And then I got a glimpse of the real thing, when you invited me over, and I fucking panicked. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran, and I fucked up.” Alex was pleading, but he kept a safe distance from Miles, unsure if he’d welcome him or punch him. 

“Did you ever consider I wanted the same thing?” Miles said in a whisper, taking a smallest and most tentative step towards Alex. 

“Yes! And it scared me half to fucking death, because what if it didn’t work out? Fuck, what if you realized you hated me? It’s easier to keep you at a distance, so I can have you and keep you, in some way, and not have to worry about ruining it. But I couldn’t. Nothing I did worked, I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t let go.” Alex was panting when he finished, his cigarette burning freely, forgotten, as he carved through the air with his hands. “That’s why I called you that night. You were the only person I could call. But seeing you in my apartment, you fit in my life so well… I panicked again. But I hate how it ended. I’m sorry.” 

“I didn’t want you to stay away, for fuck’s sake Alex.” Miles groaned, throwing his hands up. “I always wanted you, I wanted to try! But you never let me in.” 

“I know, I know, fuck, that’s what was so hard! I knew I didn’t deserve it, what you wanted to give me. And I was terrified I wouldn't be able to give it back like you deserve.” 

Miles stepped to Alex, to close the remaining distance between them, and cupped Alex’ face with his hands, looking him in the eyes. “I know you’re a mess, but I don’t care. I fell in love with you every night you sat across from me, and I can’t just stop that. You deserve the world, Alex.” Alex placed both of his hands over Miles’ as he continued, “I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just want you to be mine.” 

Alex was so close, close enough where Miles could feel the air from the shaky breaths Alex took. Miles hadn’t felt Alex like this in what felt like eons, and he was using every ounce of willpower not to close the distance between them, to finally have Alex in one of the many ways he wanted him. Miles brushed his thumb over Alex’ cheek, and he instinctively leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. “Miles,” Alex breathed, moving his body even closer, so they were pressed together, faces just inches apart. “Take me home. Make me yours.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me way too long to figure out the name of this chapter... I hope y'all like it! Please ring me out in the comments! Again, I promise I haven't abandoned this fic. I've already got the next chapter planned out! Cheers X


	5. Brandy Alexander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark night, moody boys, brandy cocktails.

_ “Make me yours.”  _ The words echoed in Miles’ head, as he stood with his hands still cupping Alex’ face. He tilts Alex’ face upwards, studying him, all the while Alex never takes his eyes off Miles. He moves slowly, fingertips moving along the curve of Alex’ jaw, his thumb coming to brush across his chapped bottom lip. Alex’ lips part, and Miles can tell in the slight hitch of his breath that Alex is ready, willing, open. 

“Come here,” Miles whispered, and Alex obeys, closing the distance between them, his grip on Miles tightening. There’s urgency in his kiss, and he wastes no time in darting out his tongue, running it along Miles’ bottom lip to invite himself in, and he’s eagerly welcomed. Alex is pliable under Miles’ hands as he moves them to his waist, and Alex wraps his arms around Miles’ shoulders, in an attempt to reduce the spaces between them as much as possible. 

By the time they break the kiss, they’re both flushed, Alex’ lips are slightly swollen and a deep pink, which only makes Miles dive in again, for another taste, and then again, and again, and again. Alex’ hands are everywhere, grasping and clawing at Miles, and with each time Miles releases him, Alex meets him, unwilling to separate longer than a quick breath, or to take the other in, to glance at gleaming lips. 

At some point, Miles had moved them, pressing Alex against the outdoor wall of the pub. He was grateful that they were out of sight and earshot, because when he applied pressure to Alex’ groin he made a noise closer to a whimper than a moan. 

“We need to get home,” Miles whispered, attaching onto Alex’ neck, making another obscene noise fall out of Alex’ mouth.

“Please, please,” Miles wasn’t sure if it was an agreement to leave for his apartment, or a plea to take him right there, on the street. Whatever the meaning, he broke the kiss, and stepped back just enough to remove himself from the gravitational pull immediately surrounding Alex. How badly he wanted to be sucked in, and he didn’t care if he found a new galaxy or a black hole, just as long as it immured him wholly, just as long as it swallowed him up. 

\--

He wasn’t sure how they made it back to his apartment; the only things Miles could properly register was Alex’ hot breath on his ear, his greedy hands palming the front of his trousers and pulling him close, the moans caught in his throat as they kissed each other. It was all encompassing and Miles felt himself drowning, being pulled deeper and deeper with each touch and kiss. 

Despite the flurry of getting back to his apartment, and into his bedroom, everything becomes suddenly, excruciatingly clear as he laid Alex on his bed, both of them stripped in seconds. Skin on skin, the feeling of being nestled between Alex’ thighs, heat emanating from their bodies. All of his senses were being overwhelmed, Alex’ ragged breath in his ear, the taste of the skin of his neck, right below his earlobe, his brown locks obscuring his sight but still managing to catch the light in just that  _ way _ , the scent of his cologne and the whiskey he’d drank, and the most profusely colossal experience: Alex’ body under his, Alex’ hands grabbing him everywhere, the way Miles’ cock was positioned just supremely to rub against the space where Alex’ ass cheeks parted. It was incorrigible. He separated from Alex just long enough to get the proper supplies, squeezing the base of his cock to withhold an orgasm he knew would be forthcoming if he didn’t disconnect from Alex promptly. He noted, briefly, that Alex grabbed himself as well when they parted, maybe to quell an impromptu spillage, or to make up for the sudden loss of contact. 

They slotted back together so seamlessly, and maybe it was just Miles’ imagination, but Alex was already open and welcoming by the time he slipped in a few coated fingers.

“Have you been with anyone else?” He asks suddenly, three fingers and knuckle deep into Alex, but he can’t help himself. 

Alex lets out a frustrated noise, propping himself slightly on his elbows, just enough to make eye contact. “What do you honestly think?” 

Miles smirked, having his answer, and also knowing that Alex being a right tart didn’t stop when he was being fucked with Miles’ hand. 

“Indignant,” Miles purred, curling his fingers just  _ so _ to make Alex fist the sheets until his knuckles were white. 

“Fucking menace..” Alex muttered, but his moans and the arching of his back ruined his facade.  _ Uninviting, but not as impossible as everyone assumes. _

“I’ll take that as a no?” Miles asked, just to push buttons, while he slowly curled his fingers once more.

“No, not since the beginning,” Alex barely got out, puffing out a shaky breath, working his hips against Miles. 

“The beginning?” Miles was getting too much pleasure out of this, but he figured he could torture Alex for just a bit, just to fluster him.

“Since we met,  _ ahhh,”  _ a moan broke through, “you git…”

“You poor thing,” Miles cooed, removing his fingers, much to the resentment of Alex.

“Are you quite finished?” Alex huffed, irritated at the loss of fullness. 

“Quite.” Miles replied, quickly preparing himself before aligning himself between Alex’ legs. 

The gravity of this hit Miles then, what it meant to be there once again, on top of Alex, having him look so flustered and beautiful. He hoped that it wouldn’t end like it had before, with him waking alone and cold, but he liked to think that the warmth in Alex’ eyes told him that he’d never have to worry about that again. In that moment, he let himself believe it, and as he placed his lips on Alex’ cheek, just below the cheekbone, he made a promise to Alex, as well as himself, that neither of them would be cold again. 

Again, he was brought back to the present, out of his own head, because Alex had grabbed his cock, guiding him in. “Make me yours, Mi,” he breathed, and there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. 

Sliding in, he took Alex’ hand away from his shaft, lacing their fingers together as he got closer, inch by inch. He asked about Alex’ condition as he kept on, but Alex’ eyes were pleading and his cheeks were red, and he kept messianic eye contact as he managed to get entirely inside. 

Miles didn’t consider himself quiet in bed, but he might as well be silent compared to Alex, who mewed and cooed at every shift and stroke, gasping into Miles’ mouth like he’d pass away without the constant touch, the air from Miles’ lungs. Miles couldn’t get enough. He gave every kiss, requited every touch, and he knew that in every turn, Alex felt the exact same as he did. It wasn’t often that you knew exactly how someone felt while you were on top of them, but as he lifted Alex’ leg upon his shoulder, hitting that sweet spot deep inside him, Miles knew they were both close to tears.

Suddenly, Miles spoke. 

“When you brought that guy to the bar…” Miles began, hardly able to enunciate a clear word when Alex’ lips were constantly against his. 

“Let’s not talk about him,” Alex breathed, returning to his onslaught of kisses. 

“When I saw you with him,” Miled continued, “he made you look so small.” He punctuated his words with nips and pecks along Alex’ neck, jaw, and cheek. “He looked like he could’ve broken you…” 

Miles lifted Alex’ other leg upon his shoulder, leaning down to push himself deeper, locking eyes with Alex. “And I wanted it to be me.” 

“I wanted it to be me,” Miles repeated, placing his hands on either side of Alex’ head, “ _ I  _ wanted to break you.”

Alex keened, throwing his head against the bed as Miles quickened his movements, a brutal pace. 

“Do it,” Alex said, “break me.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, they were kissing again with a renewed ferocity, sloppily grasping for each and every bit of each other. 

Miles in no way relented, each moment of contact of his hips ringing in the room like a pilgrim throwing themselves in front of a holy relic. Alex’ body was akin to a temple, and Miles would gladly lay himself upon it as sacrifice. 

After Miles’ declaration, it didn’t take long for either of them to reach their climax, going over that edge into the abyss, swallowing them up. 

As Miles caught his breath, this throat felt tight, overcome with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. He looked over at Alex, who had gotten up and was fiddling through a jacket pocket, cigarette pack in hand, looking for a lighter. He sat gingerly back on the bed, on the opposite side as Miles, pulling his feet into his lap as he lit his cigarette. He took a few drags while Miles quietly stared at him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask,” Alex said, shaking his head and looking for a place to put it out.

“You don’t have to.” Miles said simply. 

Alex smiles sweetly at him, before offering the cigarette to Miles, which he gladly accepted.

The silence was comfortable, and smoke-filled. Their eyes met often, carrying a silent conversation between them. Once they finished, Alex lit another, earning a smirk from Miles. 

“That,” Alex states, motioning between them loosely, “deserves more than one cig.” 

Miles chuckled as he pulled himself off the bed, pulling on his boxers before turning to Alex.

“I don’t have Jameson, but I’ve some brandy. Would you like one?” 

“Ah, the perks of dating a bartender…” Alex joked, before confirming that yes, of course he’d like one.

“Are we? Dating?” Miles was stuck in the doorway, and though his tone was light, he knew it was a far more question serious than he was leading on. 

Alex looked up at him, fixing his slumped posture before answering. “If you’ll have me.” 

“Always,” Miles replied, his words once again carrying far more weight than he was expecting. 

Alex let out a relieved sigh before nodding.

As he fixes their drinks in the kitchen, Miles feels so relieved he could cry, but also so excited he wants to run down the street, shouting out to anyone who would listen to tell them that finally,  _ finally _ , Alex was his. 

In the end, he did neither of those things. What he did do was carry their drinks to the bedroom, the rest of the bottle in hand, turn on some music on the stereo in the corner of his room, and kiss Alex until he was breathless. 

In part of his mind, as he tasted the sweet brandy on Alex’ lips and ran his hands through his soft curls, he knew there was a very good possibility that Alex could completely ruin him, and could render him to soft clay to be molded in his hands. In another part of his mind, terrifying and exciting him all the same, he knew without a doubt that he would absolutely let him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this far, I think we've just about reached the end! Let me know your thoughts, I'm dying to know what you think!


End file.
